Chosen
by FadingMist
Summary: I never wanted to be chosen. What I thought was the high school of my dreams turned out to be a secret government agency looking for new test subjects. They forced me to play a deadly game. That game was called SBURB. (AU)(Rated T for future language and suggestive themes)(Prologue inside)
1. Prologue

I never wanted to be chosen.

The following is my story. Because of these true events, my life has changed, and the world is no more. I have been manipulated, lied to, and cheated more times than I can count. Everything is a paradox on top of a paradox. There aren't just 3 dimensions, there's billions of them. The list goes on.

When I was selected for a scholarship at the Suburban High School, I thought I was so lucky. It seemed like the high school of my dreams, teeming with engineering, computer science, and my beloved robotics.

It would've been nice if it was real.

But why would I ruin my tale for you, reader? I should've given you a spoiler alert. So go on, read on, and let your mind dive deep into these depths of words.

~ fadingMist


	2. Lexi: Receive letter

"What?!"

My mom smiled, handing me the letter. "Congratulations, Lex. You got in."

I snatched the precious paper from her hands and held it in my own trembling ones. My eyes could barely read the printed text as they watered up with tears of joy.

"Oh my god, I can't believe it! I passed the test! I _actually_ passed the test! Woooooot!" I laughed and cheered at the top of my lungs, feeling like I was at the top of the world. Calming down a little, I read the letter aloud so my dad could hear it. His voice crackled in from the home phone lying on the kitchen table. I began to read.

"_Dear Miss Lexi Fleury,_

_ I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Plantation Campus of American Heritage School. You have received a full scholarship that fully covers your tuition-"_

My voice cut off as I dropped to the ground, rolling around on the tile floor. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Mom rolled her eyes good-naturedly, speaking into the phone. "Charlie, I'll call you back. She needs a few minutes to calm herself down."

* * *

The next day at school was an exciting one. During homeroom, I found out that my good friend Christa had also gotten in. We told each other the news at the same exact time, hugging and squeeing after. A few other girls in my class had taken the test, but hadn't been offered a scholarship. They sulked quietly in a group, casting jealous looks at us.

Throughout the school day, I couldn't concentrate on my work. Inside, I was buzzing. My feet tapped and my eyes wandered all the way to fifth period. I was even more restless than before, wanting Reading to be done so I could go to lunch.

There was a knock at the door. Ms. Baron excused herself to go and open it. The safety policy at my school requires all classroom doors to be locked at all times, ever since that horrible shooting in Connecticut.

The door shut behind her. Naturally, my classmates immediately started talking. I kept my mouth shut, like I usually do, and tapped a beat on the desk with my fingers. After several minutes, I started glancing at the clock. The teacher had been gone for nearly 5 minutes. That was odd.

Ms. Baron poked her head into the classroom. Dreadlocks shaking, she scanned the room. When she found my face, she motioned for me to step outside. I awkwardly stepped out of my desk and walked out into the hallway.

Before me stood my Reading teacher and a man whom I had never seen before in my life. He was dark skinned, with a clean-shaven head and no eyebrows. The suit he wore was jet-black, with a bright green symbol embroidered on the breast pocket. The man was at least six feet tall, and he peered down at me through wraparound sunglasses.

"Are you Lexi Fleury?" His voice was gruff, and he had pronounced my last name wrong. _Floor-ie._

"Yeah. And it's Fleury. F-l-e, u-r-y. No need to be all French." I crossed my arms, hiding my hands in the fabric of my windbreaker.

"Here." He handed me a thick white envelope, with my name and the same green logo that was on his suit printed on it. Now that I could see it better, the logo looked like a little square house, like the kind a kid would draw.

Cautious, I unfolded my arms and accepted it. "Open it when you get home," he said, "and not a moment before."

"Uh….okay. But what is it?" By the time I looked up, he was already turning around the corner into the stairwell. "Hey!"

He didn't seem to hear me and kept walking. I turned towards Ms. Baron, who shrugged. "I guess you should do what he says," she said.

"Do you know where he came from? Or who he works for? Why did he give this letter to me?"

She shook her head. "No idea. I need to get back to class."

As I took my seat, I couldn't help wondering: _What just happened?_

* * *

As usual, my mom picked me up five minutes late. As she navigated the afternoon traffic, I told her about the letter. Her eyebrows scrunched up when I told her about the man. "He wouldn't tell you anything?"

"Nope," I replied, "Not even the teacher knew who he was."

Fifteen minutes later, the mysterious envelope sat on my kitchen table. Mom sat in her usual chair across from the sliding glass door, I remained standing. "You open it," I said.

"Honey, it's your letter."

"Yeah, but what if it's like, contaminated or something? I heard there was this terrorist group who sent this airborne virus to people through letters and-"

"Okay, okay," she snapped, "Fine. I'll open for you." With Dad's favorite letter opener, Mom tore the envelope's seal. She carefully slid out the contents, which contained a single piece of paper and a green USB stick. Seeing that nothing had exploded, I unfolded the paper and read it out loud.

_"To Lexi Fleury-_

_I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected for admission to the Suburban High School located in Houston, Texas. This is an extremely prestigious school that accepts only the most creative and talented young adults. It is also a boarding school, with dormitories and full housing units for its students. Due to the rigorous nature of this school, if you choose to accept your admission, you will be transported to the school as soon as possible to begin your high school preparation courses. All other information regarding the Suburban High School can be found in the mass storage device enclosed within this letter._

_Best Regards,_

_Principal Jacob Scratche, PhD."_

Mom and I were silent for a moment. She was the one who broke the silence. "Wow. So, what are you going to do?"

"Plug in the USB and read about it, I guess. If I like it better than American Heritage, then I'll go."

"It's a boarding school, honey. Do you think you'll be okay and everything? I mean, it's all the way in Texas."

"You know I don't get homesick."

She sighed. "Fine. Go read about it."

I scooped up the gig stick and stuck it in my hibernating laptop, flopping down on the couch. The screen flickered to life. A new window popped up, and with the trackpad I selected the 'Open Folder to View Files' option. A green loading bar appeared on the screen. _Downloading Content…_

It loaded remarkably fast, and before long the USB had installed a new shortcut on my homescreen. I double-clicked the green house icon, and my screen went completely dark. Then, in fullscreen, a new loading bar appeared, this time with a green circle above it that shrunk, grew, and flexed like a kaleidoscope. Music began to play, digital sound pouring from the speakers. The electronic beats pulsed in time with the circle. Finally, the loading bar reached 100%.

_THE SUBURBAN HIGH SCHOOL, _read the words on my screen. The music faded, and more tabs appeared under the title. _History, Achievements, Curriculum, Accommodations, Uniforms…._I wrinkled my lip at the last one. For the heck of it, I clicked it. I noticed my cursor had become three-dimensional. The Uniforms tab popped out and enlarged. There were pictures that went along with the text as well.

_Here at the Suburban High School, students are required to wear uniforms. However, unlike most school, these uniforms can be personalized to each pupil. Each individual can select a simple symbol of their choice, along with the color that will accent their uniforms._

Below this was a picture of a mannequin wearing a white t-shirt and skirt, with gray areas marking where the student's choice of color would go. I grinned. I was beginning to like the sound of this. I had been going to the same dumb charter school for nine years, and trust me, you wouldn't like it if you had to wear khakis every day, either.

_For girls, there is the option of either a long sleeve or short sleeve cotton shirt as a top, and a bottom of either a long skirt, mid-length skirt, or long pants. Undergarments will be given without discretion._

There was photo of a cute, long-haired girl wearing the long grey skirt and long sleeved shirt, with a lime green as her color option and an atom as her symbol. Not needing to read the part about the boys' uniforms, I selected the Curriculum tab. From this tab, there was a list of courses. Most of the courses had to do with various types of engineering, chemistry, biology, and the arts. When I saw that there was a robotics course, I cheered. Mom came over, leaning across the couch to see the screen.

"Did you find something you like?"

"Yes! Look Ma, there's an entire course dedicated to robotics! And check out the photos of their engineering lab…"

As I explained each piece of equipment I could see in the photos, she smiled and nodded. "So, is this a place you would _definitely _consider going?"

"Definitely."

"You're willing to go to a boarding school? To stay away from home for a long time?"

"I _told _you, I don't get homesick. Because of Dad's job, we've been traveling since I was four. I'm used to this."

"What I want to know is, would you choose this school over American Heritage?"

I took a deep breath before answering. "Yes."


	3. Agent: Examine new test subject

_BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP._

Caleb Brutford slammed his hand down on the control panel, cutting off the earsplitting alarm. He groaned, seeing that the incoming message was from the boss.

A file flashed green on the screen. He double-clicked the icon, and a new sound file automatically opened. The boss's cold, clear voice filled the small apartment.

"Good _morning_, Agent Brutford. As you know, you are in command of the southeast division of the United States. You have been recently stationed in Miami for a reason, which I am about to tell you now.

I have discovered a new lead for a potential test subject. Female, age 13. No forceful cooperation with this one. Trust me, she'll come of her own free will, and I want you to be an excellent host. The specs should be coming at any moment."

Sure enough, the printer had started spewing out several papers filled with statistical data and photographs. Brutford grabbed these with his large hands, straightening the stack on his desk.

"Don't mess this up, Brutford. We don't want this session to end up like last time."

The sound file collapsed and erased itself, leaving Brutford staring at the new subject's information. That was the usual boss, leaving without even a goodbye. Typical day, if you worked for the SBURB Project.

He read the papers carefully. As the boss had mentioned, the candidate was female, age 13, eye color: brown, hair color: brown, no health anomalies or personality traits severe enough to throw a wrench in the master plan. There were a few photos from the surveillance feed. One depicted the girl in a tank top and sweatpants, jumping with a white remote in her hand, obviously playing some sort of video game. The photograph seemed like it had been taken through the girl's living room window.

This session couldn't end up like the last. The four candidates of 2009 had been perfect. That is, until the game swallowed them up off the face off the planet. Brutford, like most of the other agents, thought this was just a game glitch. The boss, however, had a different idea. He thought the kids had managed to break the game somehow, forcing themselves out of the Project's grasp.

Brutford scowled. He had been in charge of getting a hold of the blond boy that never took off his stupid sunglasses. Little titch. Since the '09 incident, subjects had been harder and harder to find. The boss kept coming up with new restrictions for potential candidates, starting with the name rule. First name must be four letters long, last must be six. No middle preferred. He said this signified something, the names, but Brutford barely payed attention when the boss droned on about things like this. He could faintly remember the boss's speech on the subject…

"A four-letter name signifies that the child's parents want their life to be 'normal', but we all know that 'normal' does not exist. It's a common name, nothing more. The short last name signifies no foreigners or descendants of immigrants. The game is only available in English, as far as we know, and we don't want our translators to be overburdened by the task. The six letters could also possibly help with eliminating royalty and those of higher status from the selection pool. Remember, my agents, these changes are only in place to make your jobs easier…."

Well, it made it kind of easier for Brutford. Apparently the Project had seized a kid up north, and it pushed the agents to find another player for the boy as soon as possible. The one-player sessions had ended horribly, usually with the player spontaneously combusting. It wasn't a bug in the game, it had been programmed in the coding for a reason.

See, the SBURB Project had only one goal: find out the point of the game, win it, and use the information gained from playing to save the world.

In 2008, scientists in the U.S. were shocked to discover an incredibly large meteor heading towards Earth. A meteor of that size, they hypothesized, would rip apart the planet. Strangely, the meteor had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and going at a definite speed that would allow it to hit the Earth in approximately one hundred years.

Then, archeologists dug up an amazing find on a distant island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It was a disk, a single computer disk, buried in stone ruins. It was kept a secret from the general public, as it was obvious that something great was occurring, something big that could define human civilization and change the course of history.

So of course, the United States kept it for themselves. They tested on the disk, found it to be fully functional, and made copies. It was only when they found it to be a game was the SBURB Project officially formed.

The first session was a disaster. It was unknown to the researchers that there was a time limit in the game, and they blew up after fifteen minutes. Several sessions and human lives later, the Project found that there was a requirement. The game was multiplayer, and all single-player sessions failed miserably.

The Project couldn't afford to continue losing their brightest minds to spontaneous combustion, so they started looking for test subjects. They tried volunteers, prison convicts, and even bribing adults. These all failed. That was until one scientist, known only as 'Doctor Scratch', proposed that they try using children.

After the session of '09, it was clear that his method was successful. He was appointed head researcher of the SBURB Project, and continued his search for suitable testing subjects. That's why he hired agents like Caleb Brutford, to seek out more teenagers to enter into game sessions.

And that's exactly what Agent Brutford was about to do today.

* * *

There was something in the subject's file Brutford had forgetten to look over.

It was how damn _tall_ she was. Easily 5'9", carrying an extra bit of weight, with thick glasses over dark, staring eyes. Her unkept hair fell down to her elbows, and it gave off an aura that this girl did not care on how she looked.

Good. At least she wasn't a prissy beauty queen.

_Time for the introduction. _"Are you Lexi Fleury?"

This earned him a glare. "Yeah. And it's Fleury. F-l-e, u-r-y. No need to be all French." She crossed her arms.

Brutford made a mental note to suggest a possible attitude problem to the boss.

He handed the fake high school acceptance letter to the test subject. "Open it when you get home, and not a moment before."

The girl took the letter cautiously. Brutford didn't wait to see her reaction, he turned on his heels and left, just as he had been instructed to do so. He heard her calling to him, but ignored her.

He turned into the stairwell and out of the building. Now to wait for Lexi Fleury to accept.


	4. Lexi: Go to your new school

Three days and what seemed like a million goodbyes later, I stood at my front door squinting at the road from behind the mesh screen. My rolling luggage slouched against my knees. I had managed to put my entire life inside one little carryon. Well, besides my laptop. Mom had argued that if I brought any electronics, the school staff might get offended from me not using their own technology.

Welp.

Instead of the laptop, I had filled my carryon with other things that were extremely meaningful but at the same time potentially useless. Such as my lifetime stock of plastic lanyard, for example. I had also packed several balls of yarn and my favorite blue knitting needles, a necklace with Girl Scout badges pinned to it, and an obscene amount of art supplies. This included three sketchbooks in my 'art bin', two folders of paper and references, a clipboard, and an array of pencils, lead, and Sharpies. I had even brought along Snowflake, my first stuffed toy when I when I was a baby. It seemed stupid to bring her along, but the company of the plush white cat was comforting.

Possibly the only remotely useful thing in there was an extra pair of shoes. The list from the USB stick had mentioned that the Suburban High School would provide custom clothing and undergarments, but hadn't pointed out what I was supposed to wear on my feet. To be on the safe side, Mom had made me pack an extra pair. But despite her persistent nagging, I wore my combat boots. (Trust me, buy a pair of these babies and you will never need another pair of shoes in your life.) I also wore a plain white T-shirt and jeans, with my usual bushy brown hair tamed down into a neat braid.

Finally deciding to sit down on the chair outside, I began to ponder my situation. My little mind wandered off to the conversation Mom had with Dr. Scratche.

"_But why does she have to start preparing right away?"_

"_Oh, I see."_

"_Really? You can pick her up?"_

"_That would be great!"_

"_Can I send her letters?"_

"_A day or two, uh-huh."_

"_So, tell me again on the dorm's security system…"_

Then came the long, complicated process of withdrawing from my current school. Many calls to my teachers were made, and I even had to go to the school on Saturday to fill out some paperwork. My teachers said they would miss me, but the authenticity of some of their well-wishes could be questioned. After that, Mom drove me around Broward County, visiting each of my friend's houses to say goodbye to every one of them. I must've cried at least five times.

The memories spiraled down to the present moment. It was nearly noon, which was time the SHS bus was supposed to arrive. Every time a car approached, I watched anxiously as it drove down the street.

From inside, I heard the clock strike 12 o'clock.

A deep rumbling noise filled the air. The SHS vehicle pulled over onto the front yard, leaving tracks in the grass. The Suburban High School's transportation was either a large car, a half-size bus, or a very small tank with the school logo skinned on it in lime green.

The door popped up on the…bus's side that was facing me. Mind you, by 'popped' I mean like the friggin' Back to the Future literal Hot Wheels. What was odd about the car was that it seemed to be armored, and even odder was the person who stepped out from behind the door. It was a man in a white suit, and instead of a head there was a spherical white dome that completely covered his head. If he even _had_ a head. I cautiously took a step backward, inching towards my front door.

The man reached up, grabbing the orb on his head and pulled up. It came off with a clean _pop,_ revealing a (thankfully) normal human face. His skin was extremely pale, and had a scruff of mouse-brown hair that was streaked with gray. At the sight of me, he managed a smile.

"Oh! Sorry to spook you there! As you can see, I was just testing the Data Sphere. Excellent sort of device for hands-free communication, telephoning and such. You must the new te-, I mean, student! Lexi, is it? I'm Principal Jacob Scratche, the one who sent you the letter. You can call me Doctor Scratche."

I exhaled deeply. Phew. "Yeah, that's me."

"Good. I assume you're all packed and ready to go?" He fished a green handkerchief out of his pocket and pulled out a pair of half-moon glasses, wiping them clean before delicately setting them on the bridge of his nose.

"Um, yes. Let me go get-"

Before I could finish my sentence, a wild Mom appeared. "LEXI FLEURY! Why on EARTH didn't you tell me the bus arrived? Don't even THINK of leaving before saying goodbye!"

"Um," I mumbled, embarrassed. On the other hand, the Doctor seemed pleased. "I suppose this is the lady I spoke to on the telephone?"

"Oh, hello," said Mom, "You must be Jacob. I'm Ellie, Lexi's mom." She reached out to shake his hand.

The principal shook. "Pleased to meet you. Now, as you know, your daughter will be away for _quite _some time. Is she packed sufficiently?"

"It was hard enough getting her _not_ to pack. I hope it fits on the plane." Mom handed me the handle of the carryon, and I dutifully took it and rolled it beside me.

"That's perfectly fine. I'm sure the attendants on our private jet will be excellent hosts."

Mom and I exchanged a wide-eyed look. _Private jet? _ Neither of us had ever been on a private jet before. We were just an ordinary, middle-class family living in the outskirts of Hollywood, Florida. Dad's boss was a multimillionare, but Dad had never exactly gotten a share of his wealth.

"W-well then! Yes, I'm sure she'll be in safe hands with you," Mom flustered, "Er…when shall I be seeing Lexi again?"

"Oh, around the start of the summer term," the Doctor replied jovially.

By then, I had noticed Mom was giving me a really sappy look. "What?!" Without warning, she burst into tears and had me clutched in a suffocating bear hug.

"Oh, honey! Just know that Mommy and Daddy are here for you, you can call us any time you'd like, and

always, _always_ remember that we love you-"

"Okay, geroff-" I broke out of my mother's embrace, and got in the SHS vehicle, followed by a certainly bemused Dr. Scratche. Before stepping in, I turned around and uttered a final, "Goodbye."

As the doors closed downward, I looked around the leather interior of the car. The first thing I noticed was the woman sitting across from me. She was tall, dark-skinned with pale, inquisitive eyes, and most shockingly of all, did not seem to have a mouth. The skin flowed smoothly over where her lips were supposed to be, an effect that was mildly unpleasant. The woman wore an outfit of midnight black, complete with one of those giant floppy hats and a trench coat.

"Ah, I see you've just met Ms. Snow Manline," said the Doctor as she slid into the seat next to me. "She is head of the Human Resources Department at the Suburban High School."

Ms. Manline gave me a curt nod, I gave a weak "hi" in reply. I admit, she scared me a little. Maybe it was her eyes, or just the feeling that she was not a woman to be crossed.

The doors of the SHS vehicle locked shut with a loud _click_, and the motor revved as it drove off towards the Fort Lauderdale Airport. I wondered who was driving this thing.

* * *

We spent the ride to the airport in silence. I think I was too intimidated by both of them. Dr. Scratche was kind enough to make a few comments about the weather, but I stayed quiet. I passed the time by gazing through the tinted window and lodging the current images in my mind so I had at least some memories of home to take with me.

Passing through the Fort Lauderdale Airport sercurity check-in was fairly uneventful, not counting the one instance where Dr. Scratche's 'DataOrb' or whatever the heck it was set off a bunch of alarms in the x-ray machine. Ms. Manline and I stood and watched an extremely flustered Doctor attempt to explain to the burly security guards that it was indeed _not _a bomb. I glanced upwards and was surprised to see the Head of HR's eyes twinkling with amusement. I'm sure if she had lips, she would be grinning.

After half an hour, Airport Security let us go, though I could feel the dirty looks they cast on my back as my motley entourage trooped to the Commuter Terminal. We passed a whole other set of scanners before we stepped out onto the hot tarmac. The Doctor's Learjet was waiting for us in the hanger, engine running and ready to go. The door was already open, and I ascended the steps feeling like the Queen of England.

I gasped. The interior of the plane was all white leather, with little sidetables and a flatscreen TV smack dab in the middle of the wall. It was like the jet Donald Trump owned that I had seen on _The Celebrity Apprentice_, only better.

I immediately chose a window seat, and like the Doctor had predicted, my carryon had more than enough room. A female flight attendant stood near the cockpit, clad in an outfit much like Ms. Manline's. She gave me a wink as my two companions boarded the plane after me.

The Doctor informed me that he would be flying the plane, so that left me sitting across from Ms. Manline. A few minutes after takeoff, I noticed she was gesturing with her hands to the attendant. Sign Language.

Her and the flight attendant seemed to exchange a few words, and the attendant abruptly left. A few second later, she came back with drinks on a rolling cart. This raised my curiosity. "How does she-" I cut myself off, realizing that that comment was rude.

The attendant shook her head. "No, that's okay," she said in a surprisingly hoarse voice. "She eats via stomach tube. You can watch the process, if you want."

I politely declined and swiveled my chair around. A kid in a wheelchair had once visited my kindergarten class during lunch, and 'burping' was not necessarily the most enjoyable thing to see. I pulled out my clipboard and began to doodle with a Sharpie Pen.

* * *

The flight was only around two hours, and as soon as the plane touched down on the tarmac of the Dallas Airport I was up out of my seat and bouncing on my heels. When the Doctor saw me, he gave a hearty chuckle. "Someone's excited, aren't they?"

I nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir!"

There was another SHS vehicle waiting for us outside (How many of these things are there?), and in fifteen minutes we were braking to a stop outside of the Suburban High School itself.

As soon as I set my eyes on the sprawling, pristine complex, I couldn't help but wonder how on Earth we managed to get so far from the city in such a small amount of time.

A shining metal grate slid open to allow us into a contemporary courtyard, tastefully decorated with abstract sculptures and flowerbeds. The door opened, and I stepped out onto the white pavement. I must've had my mouth wide open, because Dr. Scratche cleared his throat loudly and motioned for me to keep walking.

Each building we walked past had a green tarp on its roof that stretched across the walkway, so that no matter what, you were always shielded from the sun. This seemed a bit odd, but the way the sun caught the fabric was quite pleasant.

We turned a corner, and the Doctor started talking again. "The next few buildings you see are the dorms. If you walk right this way-" (I obliged to do so) "-_this_ one right here is all yours."

I looked up. It was white, like the other buildings, and two stories tall. "Wait, I get the whole thing to myself?"

"Indeed you do. Now, if you would just open that door so we can continue our tour…"

The door was steel-plated, and it was with some difficulty that I pulled it open. Inside was a dimly lit room the size of a broom cupboard. "Um, Sir? I think this is the wrong building-"

I felt Dr. Scratche push me in the room, and the door slammed shut behind me, drenching me in darkness. I couldn't see a thing. _What is going on? What kind of school imprisons their students-_

A dim roar of a distant engine interrupted my thoughts, and I felt my little cage slide slowly downwards along with my spirits.


End file.
